Left On Sunset Boulevard
by Lady Of Paranoia
Summary: ['Left on Sunset Boulevard' was the first and last thing I said to him.] Rei stumbles upon the one person who gives hope to his jaded life. Written for National Hug Day.


Disclaimer: I ain't got no claim to this here anime/manga, ya hear? _(winks)_

**_Author's Note:_** Just to give you darlings a heads up…. I wrote this story on an extreme adrenaline rush brought about by lack of sleep, chocolate cake, and inspiration. And I wanted to get this out in time for National Hug Day, so beware grammatical mistakes and standard nonsense. I'll probably go back next week and edit it. The perfectionist inside of me is already screaming blasphemy.

**_Warning(s):_ **Shounen-ai hints

Left on Sunset Boulevard 

On the corner of Sunset Boulevard is my special place. Now, don't confuse my boulevard with the famous avenue in Hollywood, although they do share many similarities. Nope, my Sunset Boulevard is located in a nondescript city that many tourists overlook because of its misleading outward appearance. Like Hollywood's Sunset, however, my street represents the mass of contradictions that occupies my li'l city. Every metropolis probably has this characteristic of inconsistency, but only here have I interacted with a city's soul on a personal level. Perhaps this is because I grew up in an isolated village deep in the heart of China or maybe it's because I can't wander out of this city like I could the others. Whatever the reason, Sunset Boulevard is forever engraved in my heart. It is where I experienced the pains and pleasures of life. It is where I had been bitch-slapped by Fate then kissed in apology. It is where I cried, laughed, and cried again. It is where I met _him._

'Left on Sunset Boulevard' was the first and only thing I said to him. It was a rainy Friday morning and I was feeling pretty chipper—rainy mornings make me happy for some reason—when a young man with stern, crimson eyes stalked up to me at my corner and asked directions. In that second, however cliché this may sound, I knew I had met the epitome of my city's soul. That stranger was the mass of contradictions that I so longed to figure out. Yet, we only exchanged two impassive sentences, and then he turned left on my boulevard. That day he left me burning with curiosity and an emotion I couldn't identify. I, the wandering vagabond, had been given a purpose—a hope to cherish—when I met him. And I didn't even know his name.

As a child, I had always been known as 'the polite, placid child'. It was every parent's fantasy to have a child like me, as I was told often enough. As I adolescent, I was regarded as 'the idealistic, but mellow Rei' that everyone felt they could confide in. Now, as an adult, I'm still called placid. However, the word that once been a compliment, is now implied in a rougher, nastier context that is only whispered in the darkest of rooms. Sigh… I'm no longer idealistic either, but rather cynical and jaded. I had thought my romantic soul, abundant with naivety and optimism, had died a horrible death, but the day I meet him, it rose from the ashes. That realization of hope scared the shit out of me.

Thus, from that blessedly damned day on, I always watch for even one glimpse of that intense crimson color. On my special corner, back against the glass window of a shoppe with arms crossed over my chest because my tight pants have no pockets, I observe my city. I only halt my mission when my work calls to me with slick smiles and handfuls of cash that are so important to my boss.

So, it's during these interludes of contemplation and observation that I start to wonder how the hell my stranger and I even met. He was an elegant, regal young man that seemed quite inconsistent with the neon signs and dark corners that comprised my end of Sunset Boulevard. Perhaps he was a businessman that had been late for work and wanted to take a daring shortcut. He could even be an undercover cop investigating my li'l infamous part of town. No matter who he was, I had been begun to regard him as my savior. He was my obsession and my addiction—the enigma that seemed more tangible than this whole dammed city. Therefore, I watch for him with a desperate, gnawing hope.

I'm watching for him now, even as I recollect my thoughts and whisper them to the invisible person beside me. I suppose if he saw me now he would consider me a psycho for talking to myself and I'd never get a chance to speak with him again. Then again, my clothes would probably scare him off first if he had any decency. He—

Damn fucking damn. He's come back.

There he is now, armed with his crimson gaze that is just as intensely penetrating as the day he stopped for directions. My breath catches in my throat as he stalks past rows of questionable stores towards my corner. He walks with a determined stride, yet I can discern nothing from his blank expression. All I know is that my world has screeched to a stop and I'm on the verge of a panic attack. Fuck, I hadn't realized that my obsession had grown so intense that I could feel faint from simply looking at him.

Suddenly, he stops a few feet from my trembling figure and simply stares into my wide eyes. Why is he fucking staring at me! I stare back in terror back at him, not knowing what I want anymore. Why have I even been obsessing over this guy? What do I know about him that could attract me so intensely? What the hell do I want?

Then, my stranger smirks knowingly and shakes his head, preparing to turn and go back the way he came. My eyes widen a fraction more. He can't be going back! I need to talk to him, ask him his name, anything to satisfy the yearning inside of me!

I abruptly make one of the most terrifying choices I have ever had to make.

I sprint over the short distance that separates us and proceed to give my stranger the one thing that I have lacked since childhood. I give him a hug. I embrace an absolute stranger with a sudden fierceness and need, all my insecurities and sorrows spilling out into the open in a nasty puddle of truth. You know what the most shocking thing is? He hugs me back.

I haven't felt the touch of a hug since my own mother cradled me in her arms. Yet, here I am with a complete and utter stranger's arms wrapped tightly around my waist, my nose overwhelmed with his odd, comforting scent. I can barely comprehend this bizarre situation, so when he pulls away and opens his mouth to speak, I assume he is about to say 'So, what's your price?' or something else my regular customers would say.

He doesn't.

My stranger chuckles and says, "So you know about National Hug Day, too?"

I am dumbfounded.

And then the bastard leaves me gaping like a damn fish and walks down the street, turning left on Sunset Boulevard.

I stare after him, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, then gaze down at my arms. They still tingle from the warmth of his body. Or maybe it was the warmth of his soul. Unexpectedly, a smile creeps onto my face and my burning gaze flickers back in the direction he went. Then, I sigh and return to leaning against the glass window of a shoppe, my placid face turning towards the clear sky while searing rain runs down my cheeks.

On the corner of Sunset Boulevard is my special place. However, now it's a nice special because I know something comforting. Anytime of the day, if I finally find my long-lost courage, I can leave my special corner and damn the consequences that may follow.

I can leave and follow my stranger, turning left on Sunset Boulevard.

Fin… 


End file.
